


Even Out the Playing Field

by tanigaki



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: But Like Not Actually, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, listen: berkut is a powerbottom, more like they're considered but not played out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanigaki/pseuds/tanigaki
Summary: Fernand has been unreasonably distracted lately and Berkut decides to find out why.





	Even Out the Playing Field

**Author's Note:**

> well if nobody else is gonna write these two fucking, i guess ill do it myself

As he spent more and more time working under the prince, Fernand would often catch himself thinking... indecent thoughts. Berkut’s beauty and power was not something to ignore; the young noble was truly breathtaking in every sense of the word. Fernand had been immediately enamoured with him. But now, this adoration was becoming a lustful desire he couldn’t control. Every morning he bowed to his master and, as his view changed from Berkut's scowling face to the edge of his shoes, he could see the point of Berkut's heels digging into his chest. As Berkut readied his lance on the battlefield to launch a deadly attack, he could see the curve of Berkut's bare back in the dark, dotted with sweat. As he watched his master's hands shake in anger, Fernand could practically feel the crescent moons forming on his neck as Berkut's hand slowly tightened. Even when Fernand looked at himself in the mirror, he could see his already-swollen lips splitting as his lord ruthlessly bit down once again. The worst part of all these thoughts was the fact that he  _ wanted _ it; to him, the blossoming pain of each strike from his master would be as intimate as a kiss. He wanted so desperately to prove his devotion to Berkut, even if it meant losing every last shred of his dignity. But over time these thoughts grew to be so intimate and pervasive that Fernand began to worry for his own composure. Certainly the prince hadn't noticed? Not even the Duma faithful could read the mind of another. Yet the worry weighed heavily on his mind every time he found himself distracted by Berkut's beauty.

 

-x-

 

Fernand had been called to his master's quarters that evening to aid in the removal of his armour, as he often did. At some point Berkut had decided that he preferred having Fernand aid him in the evenings rather than some nameless servant and Fernand was always eager to serve. Thus, it had become somewhat of a nighttime ritual for the two of them--Fernand would listen to Berkut rant about the day's work and their recent battles as he removed the black armour from his master's body and hope that Berkut wouldn't have a tantrum while he was in the room. But tonight as he entered, the prince had already shed his upper armour, leaving only his greaves and boots for his charge to remove. 

"You certainly took your time getting here, Fernand." said Berkut. 

"My apologies, milord. I was briefly lost in thought, I shall not allow it to happen again." Fernand replied. Berkut waved his hand to indicate that the matter was not worth discussing and sat down on the edge of his bed. Fernand wasted no time kneeling beside him, immediately beginning to unclasp the greaves from Berkut's slender legs. Fernand's desires managed to quell themselves as his mind was focused on the task at hand, but he suddenly heard a sigh slip from his master's lips and briefly looked away from his work. Berkut was stretching, his arms clasped above his head and his chest forward. Fernand's stomach dropped. It was all too easy to let his imagination run wild from such a sight. He suddenly felt all too warm and his pants were becoming uncomfortably tight. But he managed to tear his gaze away from Berkut's chest and slightly pained expression in order to finish his task as quickly as possible. His hands shook as he quickly removed both of Berkut's boots and placed them aside. 

"I-Is that all, milord?" He asked. 

"I suppose so." Berkut replied, his expression unreadable. 

Fernand made for the door as quickly as possible, only stopping in the doorway as his master spoke up once more:

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Fernand?"

He froze, a cold sweat forming on his back.

"N-No, milord. Goodnight." He managed to answer. Then he closed the door quietly before running straight to his own quarters, locking his door behind him. 

This time he couldn't stop himself from submitting to his desires. It was as if Berkut had been purposefully taunting him, tugging on his heartstrings at every possible moment. He groped himself through his trousers, thinking of nothing but Berkut's expression, Berkut's chest, Berkut's legs, Berkut, Berkut, Berkut... 

"Oh,  _ gods _ ..." he choked, finishing with a jolt into his hand. Fernand immediately began to dread the coming day; how on Earth could he face Berkut tomorrow? What if he asked him to undress him once again? His face was still burning with embarrassment from the whole ordeal, but he forced himself to think rationally. It was not as though he had confessed his feelings nor anything of the sort. All he needed to do was control himself around his master and attempt to reserve his thoughts for his alone time. Feeling only slightly more at ease, Fernand cleaned himself and dropped onto his bed for a restless sleep.

 

-x-

 

The next day Fernand was constantly on edge; wrought with both worry and anticipation for some sort of punishment for his behaviour last night. Berkut was a very intelligent man (though his emotions tended to cloud over that fact) and Fernand would not be surprised if he had understood what had gone through Fernand's mind. So he stayed off to the side, completing any tasks around the castle that kept him away from Berkut. But he was so accustomed to serving the young noble that his day felt empty and tiresome as a result. By the time the sun had set, Fernand found himself almost wishing that Berkut had called out to him. Then, as if on cue, he was summoned to the prince's chambers. Fernand was immediately filled with dread at the thought of even attempting to undress Berkut once again. But to refuse an order was unthinkable, and the mere thought of someone else aiding the man left a bad taste in his mouth. He arrived quickly at Berkut's quarters and let out a shaky sigh before knocking on the door. 

"You may enter," called Berkut. 

Fernand could feel his palms start to sweat. He entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him. But when he turned to face his master, he found Berkut to be much closer than he'd anticipated. The prince had him practically pinned against the door with a palm against the wall and a gaze so intense Fernand swore he could melt. 

"You've been avoiding me, Fernand. Explain yourself before I come to my own conclusions." He spoke, voice low and strong. Fernand felt the blood drain from his face and he scrambled for some sort of excuse. 

"M-Milord, I-"

"And do not dare even  _ consider _ lying to me," Berkut cut him off, "you know exactly how I feel about those who hide their true intentions." 

Fernand swallowed thickly and felt his face warming up. He weighed his options very briefly and decided that the truth was the only reasonable option. 

"My gracious Lord Berkut, I have recently been experiencing very...  _ distracting _ thoughts and feelings, so I thought it best to distance myself from you in order to avoid any chance of disrupting your daily work." said Fernand. It wasn't entirely the truth, but it certainly wasn't a lie.

Berkut looked confused, turning his face away from Fernand and knitting his eyebrows together. It was at this point that Fernand truly realized how  _ close _ they were. Berkut's bangs were nearly brushing his forehead and Fernand could even smell the faint perfume that Berkut liked to wear sometimes. But most of all, he realized that the prince's thigh was achingly close to his groin. If either of them moved even slightly the wrong way, Berkut was going to feel just how aroused he was becoming. Then Berkut turned to face him once again. Brows furrowed and eyes shifting, he seemed to be searching for some sort of an answer in Fernand's expression. Then he sighed, and grabbed the collar of Fernand's shirt, pulling him forwards to roughly press his lips against the other man's. Fernand was shocked; he couldn't even reciprocate before Berkut was pulling away, his expression dark.

"I'm not incorrect in my actions, am I?" He asked, his voice low but slightly uncertain.  

"O-Of course not, milord! I was m-merely surprised by said... actions," Fernand confessed. 

"Then I may continue, I presume? To refuse me would be most uncouth." said Berkut. 

Fernand was taken aback by his master's sudden initiative. 

"Yes, milord, of course! I mean, my own desires should not affect your actions, but my body is yours to use as you please." 

Fernand tried to remain calm but he was practically begging Berkut to ravish him. He wanted his prince to make him forget everything but Berkut's name, so that he may continue to sing praises of him even as he lost himself. And, at least at the moment, Berkut appeared to be willing to grant him this wish. 

He seemed pleased with Fernand's response and a grin crept across his face as he moved his hands up to grip the back of the blonde's head, crashing their lips back together. Fernand felt blissful; Berkut kissed him like he owned him, taking complete and utter control. Berkut's tongue pushed against his lips and Fernand gratefully granted him access, deepening the kiss. The prince seemed to press even closer and used his teeth to grab hold of Fernand’s lower lip, pulling it back and meeting his gaze. His eyes were intense, yet Fernand could sense some enjoyment behind them. Berkut seemed to be having fun. He dove back in, groaning quietly as Fernand's tongue met his own. Then, as Fernand began to submit entirely, he made the mistake of attempting to move closer. Berkut's thigh pressed into Fernand's groin and the blonde hissed at the sudden contact. Berkut didn't miss a beat; he slid his hand down from Fernand's neck to palm him through his trousers. 

"Is this what you were hiding from me?" He asked quietly, though Fernand suspected he already knew the answer. He tried to respond but the words died in his throat as Berkut replaced his hand with his thigh, pressing hard into his groin. 

"Is this what you were thinking of? Is this the pain you desired last night?" Berkut was whispering next to his ear now, his voice a low hum. Fernand finally managed to remove his hands from behind him and gripped the back of Berkut's shirt tightly. 

"Ah--yes! Yes, milord! Please..." he whined. There was no point dancing around it anymore; Fernand wanted Berkut more than anything he'd ever wanted before. He hooked his leg around Berkut and pressed forward to grind against him. Berkut gritted his teeth, biting back a groan. But he recovered quickly, shoving his charge against the door and holding him up to kiss him deeply. Fernand wrapped his other leg around Berkut’s slender waist, trusting in his prince’s strength to keep them both upright and silently thanking the gods that neither of them were wearing their armour. 

Berkut was proving himself to be as rough as Fernand had hoped; his kisses were all tongue and teeth, as though he were attempting to devour him. His hands gripped Fernand's thighs, squeezing and sliding ever closer to his rear. Hazy from lust, Fernand moaned into the kiss in hopes of indicating just how much he wanted Berkut to take him. Then Berkut's strong grip around his legs tightened and Fernand no longer felt the solid wood of the door against his back. Berkut carried Fernand to his bed, dropping him onto the sheets before climbing over to straddle him. Fernand felt his mouth go dry as he watched Berkut unbutton his shirt and expose his chest, neither one of them dropping eye contact the entire time. 

“You can touch me, Fernand.” Berkut’s voice sounded somewhat annoyed, but the smile on his face spoke otherwise. Fernand briefly wondered if his master was unused to such intimacy as he raised his hands, pressing gently against the prince's pale chest. Berkut sighed, his eyes fluttering as a soft breath slipped through his lips. Though it was small, his reaction to his touch gave Fernand the confidence to go further, brushing his master’s nipples with the pads of his thumbs. He suspected the prince was sensitive to touch--Fernand himself was finding that he was extremely aware of every point of contact between them. Perhaps this was an effect of always wearing armour and gloves. So he watched in awe as Berkut grit his teeth and choked out a groan against his own will. Fernand could see Berkut’s arousal straining against his pants. In a sudden burst of confidence, Fernand reached down to palm Berkut, using his other hand to grab hold of his master’s thin waist. Berkut gasped. He was starting to lose his composure. But he wasn't here to be pushed around. Berkut grabbed both of Fernand's wrists and pinned them above his head, leaning over the blonde’s willing body. 

“Fernand…” Berkut started, seemingly unsure of what to say. 

“Yes, milord?” Fernand felt somewhat strange using that title in bed. 

“Have you… done this before?” 

Fernand's mouth went dry as his mind pulled up unwanted images of soft blonde hair and a knowing smile. 

“N-never quite this far, milord.” 

Berkut hummed, weighing the choices presented in their current situation. Then he appeared to come to an answer and rose from the bed, walking towards his vanity. Fernand tried not to whine at the sudden loss of contact. Instead, he started to unbutton his own shirt. It seemed strange for him to be more heavily dressed than Berkut, but he didn't want to push his luck by removing his pants. Berkut returned to his side, dropping a small vial beside him before assuming his previous position above the blonde. Fernand picked it up gingerly and eyed the vial in his hand. 

“Is this... oil?” 

“Of course.” Berkut responded dryly. Realizing the implications of the vial, Fernand felt his face grow warm. He looked to Berkut, hoping to catch a glimpse of how the prince was feeling about the situation. A light blush dusted Berkut’s usually pale cheeks and Fernand felt half his worries dissipate at the sight. He opened his mouth, feeling the need to say something, anything, but bit his tongue as Berkut started removing his pants for him. Feeling his master’s strong hands so  _ close  _ brought him back to the present situation. This was no fantasy; this was truly and actually happening. Berkut’s fingernails briefly scraped his waist as the prince grabbed hold of Fernand's waistband, pulling his pants and smallclothes down over his knees, then deciding to remove them entirely. Fernand was bare and vulnerable, but he felt heavenly. Berkut seemed almost anxious as he breathed out: “Just follow my lead.”

Fernand nodded as if in a daze, watching with eyes wide as Berkut dipped his fingers into the oil and began to finger himself. He would have offered to help (since he felt that was his place, after all) but Berkut’s actions seemed practiced; Fernand suspected that this was not an uncommon activity for the prince. A jolt hit him as Berkut suddenly took hold of his erection, his hand slick with oil. He gave it a few strokes, mostly just in order to coat Fernand in oil as well. Then he swallowed thickly and one look into his eyes told Fernand that his usually confident and controlling master was actually _ nervous _ . Fernand gave his thigh a squeeze of encouragement, letting Berkut know that he truly wanted this, and that he was willing to do nearly anything he asked. Berkut let out a shaky breath, then positioned himself over Fernand, before slowly seating himself upon his erection. Fernand could have finished right then and there; being inside of Berkut and so  _ close _ was like a dream. His breath hitched and he shakily lifted his hands to grip at Berkut’s waist, only briefly hoping that he’d leave some sort of mark. Then Berkut rolled his hips and Fernand’s mind went blank. No thoughts outside of Berkut seemed even possible when the prince himself was riding him, his pace painfully slow but his expression…

_ Oh, gods… _ thought Fernand. Berkut had his eyes lidded, his mouth open enough to let out a moan as he bottomed out once again. His cheeks flushed and his brows furrowed, Berkut’s face alone was enough to push Fernand to the edge. But he didn't want to finish yet, he  _ couldn't  _ finish yet, as he wanted to please Berkut for as long as possible. Berkut’s sweat-slicked skin slid against his and he choked out his prince’s name like a desperate prayer, aching and needy. He wouldn't even mind if he were to die like this. Berkut felt so fucking  _ hot _ that Fernand thought he might pass out. His nails bit crescent moons into Berkut’s pale skin but Berkut hardly seemed to notice; he was panting, grinding against Fernand's hips with a need that he had never witnessed before. Berkut leaned forward in attempt to move Fernand even deeper inside of him and pressed his hands against his charge’s heaving chest. Fernand groaned as Berkut clawed into him, scraping his nails in ragged lines down his chest while he continued to roll his hips. 

Fernand did more than accept the pain; he  _ reveled _ in it. It was like Berkut could read his mind, sensing every way that Fernand wanted to be touched, to be  _ hurt _ , and then granted him his every wish. The moan that tore from his throat sounded downright sinful, but he could hardly bring himself to care. 

“Please… B-Berkut…” He whined, edging closer and closer to his end. Then he thrust his hips upwards to meet Berkut’s rhythm and Berkut came with a groan. The sound alone pushed Fernand over the edge, his orgasm coming right after. Something about the sight of Fernand streaked in cum and covered in sweat made Berkut slip; he leaned down and crushed his lips against Fernand’s in a messy kiss, practically panting into his mouth. Fernand returned the kiss as best he could in his post-orgasmic haze, weakly moving his mouth against the prince's. Then Berkut pulled away, a mess of spit shining on his lips, and collapsed on top of Fernand’s chest. An uncharacteristic sigh escaped him, sounding content and calm. Emboldened by the night’s events, Fernand wrapped his arms around Berkut, lightly playing with the hair that curled at the back of his neck. 

“I…” Berkut started, hesitant, “I have been wanting to do that for quite some time now.”

Fernand was surprised but his blissed-out mind was in no position to properly consider the implications of the prince's confession. 

“If you would like, then perhaps we shall do this more often?” He responded carefully. He felt Berkut smile against his collarbone. 

“Something tells me that that's exactly what you desire.” Fernand hummed in agreement. 

“You caught me.” He said with a quiet laugh. It felt as though every drop of tension between the two of them had dissipated. At this moment, Berkut was neither prince nor knight; he was simply another man. 

“I believe we have a great deal to discuss tomorrow. But for now, at least, let me rest.” Berkut whispered before craning his neck to kiss Fernand's jawline. Fernand returned the sentiment with a kiss to his forehead. Then Berkut rested his head upon Fernand's chest again and drifted off, comforted by the warm embrace of the man he could truly call his equal. 

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell this is my first time writing smut  
> anyways this is the first explicit fic for these two so i think i own the tag now


End file.
